


Hard

by vinyl_octopus



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, M/M, New established relationship, Premature Ejaculation, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:51:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinyl_octopus/pseuds/vinyl_octopus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fresh into their new romance, Douglas anticipates that any bedroom troubles between himself and Martin are likely to be a consequence of his age slowing him down and limiting his ability to perform. Still, there are ways to get around such problems, and if this sky god knows anything, it's how to please a partner. His experience and prowess will undoubtedly make up for it, and he's certain he can keep Martin satisfied and maybe show him a trick or two. </p><p>It's an unpleasant shock to discover the real problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_ Prologue _

“Oh, god, I want you, I _want_ you.” Douglas could not stop talking between gasps of hot breath as he kissed Martin and kissed him and _kissed_ him.

Finally. Months of unrealised, mutual pining. Revealed mortifyingly by the ever-helpful Arthur “understanding people in Ipswich” Shappey, but resolved rather neatly in a quickly organised but lingering restaurant date and now… _now_ just a few weeks later, finally taking it the step beyond shy smiles, brushed fingertips, and chaste goodnight kisses.

Douglas strangled a groan as Martin sucked hard on his lower lip, nipping it before releasing it with a slow suck, all the while running his hands covetously over Douglas’s shoulders, chest, arms, back.

The flight today had been agony. Something had shifted between them the moment Martin had walked into the Portakabin that morning and it had been hot glances and nervous stutters and uncomfortable trousers ever since.

Martin leaned forward to suck a bruise into the juncture between Douglas’s neck and shoulder, and Douglas dropped both hands to Martin’s marvellous behind, wrenching him forward so they could grind against each other. Both of them hard, pressing, writhing.

It was all over rather quickly after that. For both of them.

First time and all that.

Apart from a shared sheepish glance, and the slight awkwardness of clean-up and unexpectedly necessary use of the hotel’s laundry facilities, neither of them thought anything of it.

 

***   ***   ***

 

 

_ Work _

For a moment Douglas had thought he’d be all right. Martin was bustling around the Portakabin, making coffee, organising his papers, providing Douglas with a perfect view of the curve of his backside as he leant over the desk. And then he turned, favouring Douglas with a wicked half-grin. And Douglas was hard. Just like that.

It shouldn’t have been much of a surprise. Circumstances had dictated that their first time, such as it was, was their only time for a week or two. Lots of flights, but no stopovers. Lots of van jobs, to make up for the lots of flights. If Douglas thought it had been difficult before, it was nothing against how he felt now he knew what it was like to be in a passionate embrace with Captain Crieff.

It wasn’t exactly a new problem. His influence had rubbed off on Martin just enough – eventually – that the captain was finally willing to loosen up a little. To shed his jacket while they flew, and even, sometimes, to roll up his sleeves; though either such state of casual disrepair only ever took place while he was in the flight deck. It afforded Douglas every opportunity to admire his co-pilot’s well-formed forearms; strong, lightly freckled, and attached to the kind of long-fingered hands that any pianist would envy.

That he was now allowed to _touch_ (though “not in the flight deck, Douglas!”) made it no easier than it had been when it was all in his head.

Douglas drank a lot of water on those flights. Partly because he tended to get a little…overheated. And partly because the consequences of so much water gave him an excuse to leave the flight deck and…quickly sort himself out in the tiny bathroom.

If Martin noticed his first officer’s frequently flushed cheeks, or the stiffness of his…gait, he was kind enough never to say anything.

 

 

_ Home _

Christ. He’d been worried with his age…his _background_ he’d have trouble getting it up at all. Douglas cursed all the gods he could think of as he squirmed in his armchair, Martin blathering on obliviously as he brought in another box from the van.

He’d waved Douglas off from helping, insisting he was already grubby from a van job, where Douglas was still in his uniform, just home from a solo jaunt to Edinburgh.

“Sit,” he’d insisted. “It’s not like I’ve got much and I’d done most of it before you got here.”

So Douglas had sat, and watched his nubile young lover drag in two rubbish bags and four box loads of possessions. Apparently that was all he had to show for an adulthood in a grubby attic – the lease for which had ended shortly into their fledgling relationship and, at Douglas’s possibly reckless suggestion, not been renewed.

He admired the flex of Martin’s shoulders through the threadbare T-shirt and swallowed tightly. No. Getting it _up_ wasn’t a problem.

He watched as Martin crouched to put the box carefully on the floor near the half-cleared bookcase by the doorway. His thigh muscles were clearly visible where the fabric of his jeans strained against the movement.

Keeping it _down_ , however, seemed to be practically impossible.

Douglas shifted again as his nether region thickened impossibly further. Martin stood and stretched, cracking his back luxuriously, his shirt riding up to reveal a tempting auburn trail leading down from his belly button and down under, _bloody hell,_ the waistband of not just his jeans, but the faded black briefs that were visible where his jeans had dropped low.

God, that line of fuzz was just begging someone to lick it.

Martin missed Douglas’s tortured growl as he dusted his hands off and ran them over his face, then ruffled them through his hair. He ducked a bright smile at Douglas, then meandered out to close the front door where it still sat open.

Douglas tightened his grip on the chair arms and shut his eyes, concentrating on breathing, calming. He was entirely unprepared for Martin to slither sideways into his lap, legs slung over one arm of the chair and arms draped over his shoulders. “Hello, lover,” Martin said cheekily, pressing in to kiss Douglas properly, eyes widening in delight as he felt Douglas’s all-too-obvious appreciation. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Douglas inhaled the aroma of deodorant-tinged sweat gusting out from Martin’s grimy T-shirt and wrapped his own arms around his freshly moved-in partner, giving him a thorough, welcoming snog. “I’d have helped, you know. I’m not such an old man I can’t lift a few boxes.”

“I know you would—” Martin wriggled a bit on his lap. Douglas caught his breath as even that much friction brought him tremblingly close to the edge. He clung tight to Martin, trying to distract himself from the sensation, but the close-up view of Martin’s endearingly dirt-smudged face and artlessly tousled hair did nothing to help the situation and he was already aching with lust.

One of Martin’s hands slid slyly down Douglas’s chest. “—But there wasn’t really enough to bother helping with, and—” the hand slid significantly lower to cup, and stroke, and grip “—you already seem to have a rather large problem of your own.”

Douglas groaned into another kiss, unable to help bucking into Martin’s hand and…

He hissed a sudden breath in, instinctively clutching Martin closer as he jerked and shuddered to climax.

Well. That was embarrassing.

Thankfully Martin seemed to take it as a compliment, writhing closer and filling Douglas’s mouth with a moan of his own; tugging Douglas’s arm from behind him so he could force his hand down and over Martin’s own satisfyingly rigid, denim-clad “problem”.

It took a bit more effort to get Martin off, but by the time he was done, Douglas was all but ready to go again…

 

 

_ Start _

Jesus, Mary and _fuck_ … Martin truly did kiss like a porn star. Douglas couldn’t help moaning into it, helpless gasps escaping him. And he’d thought _he’d_ be the one giving _Martin_ the benefit of his expertise. Christ almighty, he was hard as a rock and they’d barely started.

Martin pulled back, smiling hesitantly, then leaning forward to lip at Douglas’s jaw while he brushed a hand down the front of Douglas’s straining trousers.

“Fuck! Stop, Martin! Oh!” Douglas grabbed Martin’s wrist in panic, crushing tight enough to bruise as he wrenched his hand away from his flies. It was too late, he came hard, quivering, his horrified gaze locked with Martin’s shocked, pained one.

Douglas felt his face heat with shame as he thrust Martin away from him and turned to throw his own legs over the side of the bed. He gasped for breath, his back to Martin. The room was suddenly and claustrophobically silent.

“Has this happened before?” asked Martin. Douglas could feel him fidgeting on the bed behind him.

This was at least the fifth time in a row this had happened. Of course he’d ask eventually.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Douglas spat, managing the wherewithal to stride into the bathroom, gathering the only thing he’d managed to remove —his shirt — and dumping it on the vanity. He twisted to face Martin, who was still hunched, and still fully dressed, on the bed. “I’ve got two children. Do you really think that would have been possible if THIS,” he waved a hand dramatically in front of his trouser-covered, sticky groin, “had been an issue?”

He scowled and slammed the door in Martin’s worried face, turning the taps on full blast so he wouldn’t have to hear any inane commentary.

 

 

_ Breathe _

_In-2-3-4-5-6_

Martin gave Douglas a cheeky grin as he settled himself between his legs, kissing down Douglas’s neck and unbuttoning the shirt, dropping kisses and hot huffs of air as each button released. Douglas concentrated on the mould-stained hotel ceiling, counting his breaths, trying to ignore the sensations even as he ran his own hands up and down Martin’s lovely defined biceps.

_Out-2-3-4-5-6-7-8_

Good lord, it had been weeks. He’d managed to avoid this situation with “exhaustion” and feigned illness and, slightly more creatively, he felt: ornate homemade meals that left them both too full to do more than snuggle companionably. But his willpower was at an end. He couldn’t resist Martin’s considerable charms forever.

_And in-2-3-4-5-6_

Didn’t want to, really. Sea air had always made him rather… amorous, and here they were, for once in a layover hotel near the water.

At least his clothes were forming a kind of barrier, but dear lord, he was already throbbing.

_And out-2-3-4-5-6-7—_

He was distantly aware of losing his hold of those biceps; of his trousers being removed and, apparently, tossed in the corner with a second pair before the bed jostled again as a much more naked Martin repositioned himself back in place. The touch of skin caused a surge in Douglas’s lower half and he gripped Martin’s arms again, tight. Squeezed his eyes tight and counted more determinedly as he rubbed his heel affectionately over Martin’s calf.

_And in-2-3-4—_

Martin ran his teeth round the outer edge of Douglas’s navel, causing Douglas to jump a little, and exhale all in one go as he caught Martin’s gaze, filthy and dark, glimpsed through a hang of auburn fringe. Douglas’s cock gave a mighty twitch as fingers tugged teasingly, meaningfully at the elastic of his underwear.

“Oh, bloody— Martin!” Douglas braced his hands firmly, desperately, against Martin’s shoulders. “You’re going to have to give me a…a…a…”

“Oh, I’m _trying_ to,” Martin grinned, looking up from where he was kissing his way down Douglas’s furred belly, lapping delicately at the waistband of Douglas’s briefs with clear intent.

Douglas inhaled sharply and pushed hard as his cock pulsed enthusiastically, and undesirably, into grey marle cotton. “A _minute_ is what I _oooooo-oh-oh_ , was trying to say.” Douglas shivered through the aftershocks, hollow and unsatisfied, and as mortified as if he’d been caught walking the sun-lit pier outside in nothing but his socks.

 

 

_ Grip _

Oh god, he was close he was close he was close. Martin had done nothing but skitter a hand down his chest, but the press of his lover’s erection, hot against his hip, was providing more than enough stimulation. Douglas wrapped his fingers around the base of his own throbbing cock and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed. He wouldn’t come. Not this time. If he had to tie a _knot_ in the fucking thing he would do this.

But it was too late. Despite the bruising pain, splatters of come were landing wetly on his stomach and he clenched his eyes shut against the tears of pain and frustration that threatened to leak out.

So much for that sodding website full of “tips”.

He felt Martin’s fingers, gently encouraging him to release the death grip he had on his own penis. Felt soft lips kissing delicately, so delicately, at the corners of his wretched eyes. Felt Martin carefully, deliberately trying to draw his own hips back and away.

Trying not to rub cock into the wound.

It was more than he could stand. Without opening his eyes, he rolled away and groped his way across the room to their bathroom where he quickly turned the shower on as hard as it would go to muffle the sounds of his own despair.

***

Douglas couldn’t halt the intake of breath as the thickening of his shaft caused a rift of pain in his groin… settling into a dull ache that did little to diminish the pleasure of gentle friction from Martin’s fingers roaming lightly over the cotton of his underwear but — _ow —_ became unbearable when the press of a thigh was added. Douglas winced. Well, this was one way to stop coming too soon.

Or would have been, if Martin hadn’t clocked his expression.

“Douglas?”

He shook his head.

Apparently that wasn’t the answer Martin was looking for. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just a bit of… _ah_ …pain.”

Martin leant right back. Shirt hanging off his shoulders, flies spread open.

Much like Douglas.

“Have you done something? Taken something?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“Let me look.” Martin tugged at Douglas’s waistband.

The atmosphere had taken on a rather clinical air. Evidently coming _at_ _all_ was off the table. Douglas took one look at Martin’s resolute face and knew there was no way out of this without a fight.

And they’d had far too many of those lately. Mostly instigated by Douglas himself.

He pulled his nether garments off and kicked them across the room.

“Oh, _sweetheart._ ”

Douglas had never, not once, heard Martin utter such an endearment. Certainly never in such a distressed tone. Both of them looked down at the perfect, finger-shaped black bruises circling the base of Douglas’s penis. They both winced.

Well. No wonder it hurt then. Douglas relaxed.

Martin tensed up, looking horrified. He hovered a hand as if to stroke soothingly, before realising that might make things worse.

“When did…? Oh, god, Douglas – was this from last night?”

Douglas would have done anything to wipe that stricken expression off his partner’s face.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s _not_ fine. Douglas! You’ve really hurt yourself!”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Really?” Martin gave him an unimpressed look and, with uncharacteristic cruelty, feigned stroking the appendage in question with one finger – held a centimetre away from the flesh.

The taunt was enough for an automatic reaction. Pavlov’s cock. Douglas failed to hide a frown as his body, the ultimate betrayer, sent a quick flood of blood below to harden his penis a smidge.

Martin hissed an inhale as the darkening skin made the bruises, if possible, more obvious.

Certainly more painful.

“All right,” Douglas conceded tightly. “Perhaps not a hundred per cent fine. But,” he reached to pull Martin, still incredibly alluring in his state of undress, if only one didn’t look at the furrowed brow, “that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything for _you_.”

Martin went reluctantly. And it took all of Douglas’s sky god prowess to coax Martin out of his cloud of worry and closer toward cloud 9 ecstasy.

But he managed it.

 

 

_ Ice _

Douglas melted into the kiss; the rough rasp of Martin’s tongue sliding against his own was a single, glorious point of focus. Right up until—

“GAH! Jesus _CHRIST_ , Martin?” Douglas leapt back so fast he nearly hit the headboard as he scrambled away from his lover. “What the hell are you _doing_ with those icy fucking fingers?”

He twisted to curl away a bit, hands cupping his more sensitive – and certainly more flaccid – region protectively.

To his credit, Martin did look contrite. “Sorry, Douglas. I… thought it might help?”

He grudgingly produced the small bowl of ice he had somehow secreted next to the bed. He’d evidently assumed icing his hand before touching Douglas would help cool things down. Literally.

Well, he was right about that. Douglas swallowed down the feeling of betrayal that blanketed his humiliation — Martin was supposed to pretend he hadn’t noticed the problem, not come up with ways to “help”.

He grabbed his robe off the back of the door and fled downstairs. He left Martin to deal with his own unflagging erection alone.

 

 

***

 

_ Bite _

Martin softly, deftly, daubed licks and kisses up Douglas’s inner thigh, then up his shaft. He got to the tip with Douglas’s hands pushing desperately at him, his breath frantic. Martin glanced up, seeing Douglas’s expression twist in miserable, distraught pleasure. Without thinking, he leant down and nipped Douglas’s other thigh. Hard.

He had just enough time to hear Douglas yelp affrontedly, before receiving an unexpected faceful of come.

Douglas was red-faced, and not in a good way. Martin ran one hand gently, apologetically, over the bite mark, groping blindly for the tissue box with the other.

When he’d mopped his face clean, Douglas was lying with one forearm over his eyes, the closest he could get to hiding without leaping off the bed and locking himself in the bathroom like he usually did. Something he was currently only prevented from doing by the fact that Martin was still sprawled across his legs.

“I’m sorry,” Martin said quietly, the grim set of Douglas’s mouth – all he could see of his face – almost enough to quell his own erection. “I shouldn’t have…I thought a distraction might work.”

“Please just get off me.” Douglas’s voice sounded as sober and beaten as Martin had ever heard it. Not angry. Resigned.

He slid to the side and Douglas was up and through the doorway before he’d finished untangling himself.

A distant click revealed Douglas had properly scarpered this time. Locking himself in the master bath, rather than the ensuite in their – _his_ – room.

Martin threw himself back on the bed. Ignoring the gnawing ache between his legs in favour of the worried pang in his chest.

_  
_

 

_ Tug _

Martin had reduced Douglas to fluttering breaths. He could feel the heart pounding away inside that broad chest and one of Douglas’s warm hands was clutching delightfully at Martin’s buttock, the squeeze matching and encouraging the rhythmic way Martin was pressing himself into his thigh.

Holding himself aloft with one elbow, he ghosted his own hand down to Douglas’s hip, stroking firmly towards Douglas’s straining cock. A sharp inhale and the butterfly touch of a hand at his wrist was a warning that Douglas was getting very close, so he reached beneath his lover and tugged sharply.

The reaction was immediate: a sharp cry of shocked pain and, in an unusually flexible manoeuvre, both of Douglas’s feet pressed against Martin’s hips and stomach, launching him a foot in the air to land awkwardly on the bed.

“What in the _fuck_ was that?” Douglas was bent near double, one hand tucked between his legs.

Martin pulled himself into a slightly more dignified position next to Douglas. “I…I did some reading. It said that was… supposed to calm things down?”

“Bloody hell. I don’t think you’re supposed to pull that hard. Jesus. You’ve got your own balls, Martin, use some sense. That _hurt_. How would you like it?”

Martin felt the blush spread across his chest and up into his cheeks.

Douglas blinked at him. “Oh. Well, I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Next time. Right.

They’d barely had a first time.

Martin bit his lip, leaning forward to…touch his partner on the arm, the back…anything.

Douglas scooted out of the way, one hand raised. “Don’t touch me. That was… just. No.” He got up and went slowly, quietly into the bathroom. Hiding again.

Guilt warred with resentment as Martin tugged himself to completion. Alone as usual.

 

 

_ End _

That was a definite flinch. Martin paused in the thorough kissing he was bestowing on his partner. The brown eyes were as affectionate as ever, but there was a crinkle of worry at the corners.

Martin’s ardour died a little as a wave of remorse washed over him and he remembered how their last session had ended. He moved his hands back up to the safer region of Douglas’s shoulders and swallowed, pulling back a little.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

“It’s not that,” Douglas said, unconvincingly.

Martin clenched tightly at Douglas’s shoulders and dropped his head beneath Douglas’s chin.

“I’m _sorry_. I didn’t know you would be that sensitive.”

Douglas barked a cold, unamused laugh that prickled warningly down Martin’s spine. “Yes, well. You haven’t had much opportunity to find out _what_ I like, have you? Though I’d have thought sensitivity would have been self-evident.” The tone was all scorn and bitterness. And Martin could tell none of it was aimed at him.

He bit his lip harder, snuggled close to Douglas. Trying desperately to give, and seek, the comfort of a strong, warm body. Partnership.

But Douglas had tensed. “Maybe we should just give this up as a bad job.”

Martin’s stomach went liquid. Not in the gooey lovelorn way. More in the way of a tank full of electric eels, zapping and writhing. He couldn’t look up.

“You mean this?” He twitched a knee between Douglas’s, careful not to nudge too high. “Or….or _this._ ” He hugged Douglas with a sharp squeeze. He couldn’t be more explicit, he couldn’t, not without completely melting down.

There was a long….very long… pause. Douglas’s hands were still resting on Martin’s back, but they weren’t pressing, weren’t comforting.

Douglas cleared his throat. “Well…”

Martin couldn’t lie there and listen. His hearing was sharp enough to catch what was so far unsaid. He swallowed a sob with the flood of bile trying to make its way up his throat and twisted out of Douglas’s arms.

His turn to present Douglas with his back as he slid to the edge of the bed. “Don’t.” He cursed his breaking voice as for once he fled the bedroom first.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Maybe we should just give this up as a bad job.” Douglas ground his teeth in frustration at the entire situation._

_Martin wouldn’t even look at him. “You mean this?” A knee twitched cautiously between his own._

_Douglas didn’t miss the way even this was hesitant, Martin’s touches had been nervous and fleeting for days._

_“—Or….or_ this _.” Martin’s arms tightened around him._

_Martin was so tense against him, but for a brief moment Douglas allowed himself to imagine what it would be like not to worry about all this. To be free of the pressure._

_He muttered something. Just marking time while he considered what was clearly a make or break point, but before he could cement his words, Martin was coiled at the end of the bed, shattered and shuttered._

_And then he was gone._ **   
**

 

 

_ Stop _

He’d regretted his response the moment he’d uttered it. No matter that he hadn’t finished the sentence; Martin had understood what he was implying— even if Douglas had decided almost immediately that it wasn’t what he wanted at all.

Given the size of the flat, it was ridiculous how long it took to find Martin, tucked as he was behind the far side of the bed in the guestroom, choking back sobs. He had one fist pressed against his mouth, as if he were trying to physically push his emotions back in. The other hand was clutched in a tangle of rubbish bags. Which he’d clearly retrieved from the top of his own discarded moving boxes.

A twist of utter anguish knotted Douglas’s insides and he fell knees-first to the floor next to Martin, scrabbling to shove the empty bags out of the way and haul Martin roughly into a tight, _very_ tight, embrace. There was the finest of tremors running through Martin’s body. Douglas squeezed harder, crushed his lover to him as if he could force out the pain he’d caused by wringing Martin’s marrow clean from the outside.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered wetly into Martin’s hair. “Don’t go. I’m sorry. Please. Stay. I don’t want you to go.”

When Martin said nothing, Douglas couldn’t hold back a whimper, held tighter than could possibly be comfortable, until Martin was forced to squeak a protest.

Douglas released him just enough to make breathing easier. Then took a deep breath of his own. Here, on the floor, in this impersonal spare room, it was…safe.

“Please. I’m sorry… I’m just… scared.” Douglas swallowed.

Now _he_ was shaking from the sheer force of admitting something so _lowering_. He stopped resisting the wetness in his own eyes. Bent his head to press damp lids, and lips, to Martin’s hair.

Martin still said nothing. But he relaxed a touch. He still had his knuckles pushed against his teeth. But he brought his other hand up to rest on Douglas’s back.

 

***

 

They sat there for an hour. The sun had well and truly disappeared. The room was dim, and several degrees cooler.

They untangled by mutual agreement. Neither commented on red eyes or stiff muscles.

Martin stared at the boxes lining the wall. “What if we just stopped?”

Douglas swallowed, throat dry, nausea circling. “I thought—?”

“Not us,” Martin clarified, turning to meet Douglas’s gaze and reaching out soothingly with his only recently reclaimed hand. “Just. The sex. What if we just…don’t. For a bit?”

Douglas blinked at him blankly. “But—”

A sigh. “I love you. If you hadn’t worked that out. But this… this is tearing us apart. So what if we just….put it on hold? I think….I think it might be easier if there’s no pressure. If you’re not worried about… well, about me.”

Was it a good thing that Martin, of all people, was perceptive enough to have worked out that months of his lover’s ( _shameful_ ) neglect were a result, paradoxically, of Douglas wanting to be a good and _worthy_ lover?

Douglas pressed his lips together, staring into the darkest corner of the room. A relationship with no sex. Not so different to what they had now.

He felt hollow. Who was Douglas Richardson without his bedroom armoury? He didn’t just have a reputation, he was _famous_ for his seductive skills. He was fairly certain the sex was the only thing that had kept his wives with him in the first place – not that any of them stayed. But it had kept them for a time.

Martin read him all too easily. “I’m not saying never. And I’m not saying I don’t want to. But. What if we were just _together_. I rather…” He blushed, but soldiered on, though his words were rushed and strangled. “I like kissing you. And I enjoy being held by you. And I…I think you like those things too. So…what if, for now, that was enough?”

Douglas let the idea sit in the air for a moment.

“That seems to demand something I’m not sure I can give,” he said slowly. God if Martin could be open, so could he. “I don’t know if I can…. Martin, I love you, too. But holding you, kissing you, as you may have noticed, is sometimes all it takes. That’s why…”

That’s why he rarely – _never_ – initiated anything. Had never considered taking care of Martin _first_.

He’d become the worst and most selfish of lovers in a bid to be the best.

Martin’s face had brightened fleetingly at Douglas’s declaration but it was shadowed again now. “Douglas, I’ve _never_ minded. It’s rather flattering, honestly. I’m just saying, what if we agree now: we don’t have to take anything any further? I just…if you’re not expecting it, not trying to prove— ah, _achieve_ anything specific, I wonder whether…” He waved a hand at Douglas’s groin. “It’s just a thought.”

Douglas nodded carefully. Still uncertain.

Martin twisted and slithered backwards to lean against the wall instead of the bed. He spread his knees and patted the floor between them as if Douglas were a cat to be enticed to venture. “Come here.”

Douglas frowned, but moved to kneel in front of Martin, where he’d indicated. Martin shook his head and twirled a finger in the air. “No. Turn around.” He tugged on Douglas’s shoulders until he had him arranged the way he meant: both facing into the dark of the room, Douglas’s back resting against Martin’s chest with its solid heartbeat thudding against his shoulder blades.

Douglas stretched his legs out before him; Martin tucked his own up close to bracket Douglas’s ribs and hips. He’d wrapped both arms around Douglas’s chest and ducked his head down to press his lips into Douglas’s hair.

It was like being wrapped in a Martiny cocoon; slightly bony, but glazed with comfort. The room was dark enough now that his focus was more on what he could feel and smell and hear than what he could see. He wrapped his own hands around Martin’s arms where they crossed his chest. Rubbed gently at the hairs and felt them rise and settle. He could smell the faint woodsy scent of Martin’s cheap deodorant, overlaid with the spicier lemon bergamot cinnamon of his cologne — only noticeable because his face was so near Martin’s throat.

“Talk to me.” Martin’s voice was a low, warm hush of air against his hair, oddly accompanied by the rumble of it through his chest, and thus Douglas’s back.

Douglas clenched his teeth.

“Please.” Martin kissed his head. “You said you’re scared. Talk to me.”

“I don’t…I’m not used to this, Martin.”

Another kiss to his hair. Douglas’s thumbs were rubbing in firmer, mindless circles on Martin’s arms. At this angle, he didn’t have to look Martin in the eyes.

“It’s not… _me_.” Douglas swallowed. “Even when I was drinking, I never…I’ve always been good at… _this_.”

This was worse than his first, proper AA meeting. The one he actually joined in properly, for himself and his kids rather than as a well-meant but half-hearted gesture to his wife.

He clasped his hands around Martin’s wrists, using them as an anchor. “I don’t…I don’t know what to do. My own body is outside my control. I…I thought I’d be able to seduce you and pleasure you and break out all my best techniques. God, I thought the problem would be I was too _slow_. I never imagined…What if it _never_ gets better? What if this is…what if this is who I am now?”

He was stripped bare and skinless, nerves on display and ripe for strumming like a harp. His mortification laid out like a feast for a crowd to pick over.

He felt… _seen_.

Martin said nothing as Douglas’s sentence choked off, but he clung tighter with both arms and legs, pressing kisses over Douglas’s head until he got to his temple, then rubbed his stubbly cheek against Douglas’s in a nuzzling rasp.

“I find it quite…sexy,” he whispered, feathering a kiss against Douglas’s cheek before returning to the top of Douglas’s head.

Douglas stiffened, unsure whether to feel offended or patronised; a curl of dread circling in his gut.

Martin squeezed him. “You have no idea, Douglas. How you look when you come completely undone.” He tightened his arms as Douglas strained forward to move out of his embrace; pressed another kiss ever more firmly against Douglas’s nape. “Truly. No one has ever particularly wanted me at all. I can’t imagine _you_ have any idea what _that’s_ like, but your response…it does amazing things for my ego.”

Douglas twisted again, more forcefully now. His heart starting to race. This was awful. Was this Martin trying to be supportive? No wonder he was so rubbish at interviews. He didn’t just say the wrong things, he said the _worst_ things.

Never mind salt, this was like acid in a wound.

“No. Douglas. Please. Stop.” Martin was still clinging, pressed his forehead against the back of Douglas’s neck. “I’m sorry. I know you… you’re worried. And I know _you_ hate it, and you want to be in control and I don’t know…maybe you think this means I think you’re _less_ somehow. I _don’t_.”

“You think I’m ridiculous.” His voice was dull with certainty.

Martin dug his fingers into Douglas’s arm. Hard. Deliberate. “I think you’re incredible,” he corrected, though there was a pang of something in his voice. “The only thing I don’t like is how it makes _you_ feel and—”

And here it came. Douglas braced himself. Martin’s grip loosened significantly.

“—And the way you leave. Every time. _That_ …that hurts.” His knees were still clamped to Douglas’s sides, but he drew his arms right back, resting his hands lightly on Douglas’s biceps. “ _That_ feels like you don’t trust me. And…like you don’t want me.”

Douglas twisted around properly now, incredulous. “You take my…condition as a sign of how much I want you, but you think I _don’t_ want you?”

Martin didn’t look up, but Douglas could see his Adam’s apple bob in a swallow. “You never stay. And you…you don’t often touch me. And never afterwards.” He shrugged. “I think you _resent_ wanting me. It’s selfish of me to get upset, I know. And I shouldn’t be surprised. And I _know_ you leave because you’re embarrassed and you want some privacy. But, Douglas, I’m not with you for the orgasms.”

He leaned forward where Douglas was still contorted to face him and kissed him chastely on the lips. “Don’t get me wrong. They’re nice. But they’re nicer if we’re both enjoying them. It’s not a competition. You don’t _owe_ me a particular experience. I want to be _with_ _you_. I fell for you long before any of this, and all right, the sky god charm might have worked on me; but that, and this, is not _who_ you are. I don’t care who comes first or whether anyone gets off at all, but I want us to do whatever it is _together_.”

It took Douglas several minutes to parse all that. And several more to unwind enough to relax back into Martin’s arms. He had no eloquent response but he wrapped his fingers around Martin’s wrists and held on. Eventually they leaned properly into each other, still tucked against the wall in the dark, and let their confessions lull them into exhausted dozing.

There was no closure, but there was a start.

 

 

_ Slow _

Martin, for once, was right. It was better. Though it took Douglas a while to accept that his lover really would _not_ judge him if a relatively innocent session of snogging set him off. That such things really could be dealt with with a saucy wink and a promise to help with clean up.

They failed entirely to stick to Martin’s suggestion of “stopping”, but Douglas gradually worked out that had been a psychological ruse as much as anything. With no pressure to perform, much of the anxiety that had plagued him – and likely caused him to finish so quickly – was gone. They didn’t get far simultaneously, but Douglas stopped _fleeing_ quite so quickly (though he still left, often enough, for what Martin described – accurately and infuriatingly but never in the heat of an intimate moment – as a quick sulk). And it was rare for Martin to finish without a helping hand.

Or mouth.

Or thigh.

So even if Douglas was still a little awkward and grim, they were getting there. Learning to trust and to touch and to talk.

 

 

_ Slide _

They’d been lying on the couch only half-watching a film when Douglas realised he’d been hard and wanting for a good half-hour as Martin, hands buried under his open shirt, had trailed lazy fingers through his chest hair, occasionally skimming his nipples “accidentally” while vaguely offering murmured commentary to the film’s shallow plot.

A subtle wriggle and Martin’s heavy intake of breath indicated that the lump that had been bruising his back for around the same amount of time was not, in fact, the misplaced remote control.

Neither of them spoke, but Martin slid his hands a little lower to thread through the fur around Douglas’s navel. Douglas felt his cock twitch to firmer attention, but there was no accompanying frisson of panic. Behind him, Martin’s breath stuttered as he softly dropped his fingers to Douglas’s belt buckle.

He felt Martin tilt his head to watch as he undid Douglas’s belt and flies, both of them shivering with anticipation as his penis stretched and strained at the cotton underwear still engulfing it. Douglas put a nervous hand out to stop Martin’s progress, but it was habit as much as anything.

“Let me,” whispered Martin hoarsely. “Please. Let me. Let me.”

He sounded so desperate with want that Douglas was helpless to do anything but comply. Barely confident enough to breathe, he fastened both hands around Martin’s ankles where they were tucked by his thighs and pushed deliberately back into Martin’s very hard cock where it ground painfully and promisingly against his spine.

He couldn’t help an embarrassing whimper as Martin ran the fingers of one hand over his nipple and dipped the fingers of the other under his waistband. Martin was breathing too heavily to have been likely to hear it.

But there was no way he could have missed the groan and clutch of hands round his ankles when he finally pulled Douglas’s cock free and ran it torturously slowly through his fist. Martin bucked and pushed a hot-breathed kiss into Douglas’s neck as the wet head appeared and disappeared through his squeezing fingers.

That was enough; Douglas scrambled out of Martin’s grip and embrace, twisting before Martin could object and pinning him, full length, beneath him on the couch.

Martin’s arms had come up automatically to circle Douglas’s neck, which left Douglas a hand free to open Martin’s pants and tug everything down and out of the way.

The first press of hot, solid flesh against hot, solid flesh made his vision spark. Douglas held himself still as Martin kicked one foot free of his garments and wound his legs tight around Douglas’s hips.

Martin’s eyes were so black as to look inhuman. His cheeks were flushed and his face was a portrait of sheer lust and wonderment.

Douglas…. _moved._

Martin gasped, and wriggled, and apparently did everything he could to make this _faster_.

But Douglas had had enough of fast. A forage in one of the tiny drawers in the coffee table while Martin was…distracted… furnished him with an embarrassingly underused tube of lube.

Martin didn’t seem to object to everything being made a little more slippery. Douglas settled into a slow and languorous slide, one hand wrapped luxuriously around both of them, tight enough to halt Martin’s desperate attempts to rut his hips, but loose enough that he could feel every bump and ridge of Martin’s cock against his own.

He kept it constant and steady, a warm tingle of pleasure that hunted, rather than chased climax. He lost time and it could have minutes or hours; nothing to focus on but the waves of sensation and his lover surrounding him.

The humid heat built up as he glided his hand in opposition to the leisurely thrust of his hips. Martin’s cock was throbbing deliciously and it was taking all Douglas’s willpower not to grip and grind, but this was so, sooo much better.

A little wriggle from Martin popped him out of Douglas’s hand and he shivered at the sudden intense pushing slide of the velvet-soft steel bar against his cock, even as Martin made a mewl of distress at the loss.

Suddenly, slow seemed hateful. Pure _need_ flooded through him and he didn’t have enough _hands_. He couldn’t brace himself and grip both of them _and_ tear Martin’s shirt off him.

Martin was no help at all, clinging with arms and legs, head thrown back and writhing, writhing, writhing against him.

Douglas allowed himself to slump, let gravity and their own slicked up cocks and torsos do the work while he wrenched Martin’s T-shirt up so he could lip and mouth at his chest. A tongue flick over a tight pink nipple and suddenly Martin was coming with a shout and a shake and it was Douglas who had to catch up, the hot splash of his partner’s release precisely what was required to gather him over on the crest of a wave more pleasurable than anything he had felt since they first got together.

He blacked out completely, coming to sprawled inelegantly over his partner.

A thrill of achievement ran through him – giving him energy when by all rights he should have been collapsing into sated sleep. But he sat up to admire Martin, thoroughly shagged out, flushed and panting, ridiculous grin on his face, limbs splayed limply over the sofa.

He had no right to the smug grin he could feel pulling at his own face; luckily Martin was too far gone to even open his eyes.

They’d have to experiment further. He needed to prove this was a repeatable result – but if that performance was anything to go by… Douglas the sky god was back.

And he had several months of neglect to make up for.

Just as soon as he could get Martin to wake up.


End file.
